The last of the dishes is cleared from the table, and I put them in the sink. I scrub the plate I’d eaten from and hand it to my father. Dinner had been just me and him, eating in the apartment we share above his tailor shop, in complete silence. It’s been this way for months. “You did remember to lock up, right?” I nod. “Of course, Papa.” “You wound up and covered all the fabric?” Another nod as I hand him the scrubbed p...